


Out of Time

by TenshiKun



Category: GOT7
Genre: (more like tipsy? Nobody is like TRASHED), Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bondage, Drunk Sex, M/M, Praise, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Unrequited Markson, Weddings, jackson is getting married lol, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:40:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22182706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenshiKun/pseuds/TenshiKun
Summary: The wedding bells are loud and so are the vows being spoken, but it all fades to background noise for Mark. To him, nothing is more deafening than the harsh ringing in his ears and the furious pounding of his own heart. He feels sick.Then again, nothing is more sickening than coming to terms with a grim reality. It's a good thing Jinyoung is there to help, whether he likes it or not.
Relationships: Park Jinyoung/Mark Tuan
Comments: 14
Kudos: 104





	Out of Time

To say he felt out of place was an understatement.

Mark sits in a room surrounded by bright chatter, refined orchestral music, gleaming crystal chandeliers, and exquisite high-end suits and gowns at every turn. It smells too much of expensive florals and sweet vanilla perfume, crisp bergamot and pinewood, the heavy aromas making his lungs burn and stomach twist. Impeccable white linens and silks encased every tabletop, curtained each window. White candles, sleek and elegant, lit up by soft orange flames, a white dress wrapped around a lovely woman.

Jackson recited his vows with a passion Mark could only despise, each syllable tearing into him like the teeth of a rusty, serrated dagger. “To have and to hold from this day forward—” The blade sawed through meat and bone in jagged movements, twisting mercilessly and severing away layers of flesh, “—for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer—” the dagger retracts viciously, pulling apart sinew and fascia upon departure, “—in sickness and health—” blood erupts from his wounds, streaming down his disfigured body in scarlet rivers, 

“—until death do us part.”

Mark knows he cannot escape this. No matter how much he begs, cries, and screams, the blade won’t stop until he’s left on the ground thoroughly mangled, a vivid crimson pooling around his corpse like a grotesque masterpiece. 

It was beyond painful, the way his eyes never left her veiled face and a true smile unceasing upon his lips. It was only them in the room. She was his world. Mark could hear the blood violently rush past his ears, a pounding headache forming in the back of his head. He told himself he could stomach it, stomach _them,_ but he’s slowly beginning to doubt his own willpower. Just as he was wishing they’d finish him off, mercy was granted. The two abhorrent words were spoken, they embraced, and became one—the final nail in his coffin.

Mark is out of time.

Of course, he applauded. 

He smiled politely, just as everyone did, and rose to congratulate. His inner turmoil did not matter, not when this is what Jackson truly wanted. He felt his mouth stretch into something akin to a smile, lacking warmth and authenticity but _there_ nonetheless. Not that Jackson would notice. His eyes did not see him anymore.

“Mark? I didn’t expect to run into you here.”

Mark whips around, coming face to face with none other than his former underclassman he hasn’t seen in years.

Park Jinyoung is significantly taller now, maybe even more so than himself, and broader too. He’s dressed in a crisp navy suit that fit him better than it should have, dark hair neatly slicked back and cologne smelling of something saccharine and spicy—cinnamon perhaps. He’s not an awkward bookworm anymore, that much Mark can observe. But his soft features are still recognizable enough, and Mark offers him a small grin, ignoring the slight prick of annoyance he feels. 

Jinyoung has always been too perceptive for his own good, even back when he hung around their mismatched friend group like a shadow. He was a friend of a friend or something, maybe somebody’s little cousin. Mark isn’t sure. Mark remembers instances of him loitering around the school parking lot, going with them on late-night convenience store runs, and coming over to either his or Jaebeom’s place to get high as the moon. Good times. He’d also picked up on Mark’s infatuation with Jackson (at this point, Jackson is the only one that doesn’t know), and Mark is certain he meant to say, “I didn’t expect you to have the guts to show up on Jackson’s wedding day.”

“How have you been?” Mark asks.

“Okay, I suppose. I’ve been hired for a lead role recently. It’s hard work, but everyone is surprisingly supportive and it pays well.”

That’s right. Jinyoung had expressed interest in theaters and plays since he was a teenager. It seems like he became an actor after all, and a successful one at that.

“Congratulations,” Mark says, and he means it. If things weren’t going to work out for Mark, at least they did for one of them. “You keep in contact with the others? Jaebeom? Bambam?”

Jinyoung sighs. “Bambam has been living with his new boyfriend since last month, and I haven’t heard from Jaebeom after he graduated. I was expecting to catch him here, but I found you instead. Not that I’m upset about it, I’m happy to see you again,” he’s rambling, but he catches himself. “You’re okay, right?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jinyoung narrows his eyes, “You know what I mean, Mark.”

“I noticed you finally dropped the honorifics,” Mark notes, “What, too good to still respect your hyung?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

Jinyoung frowns. “I—you’re being difficult, Mark. I figured you’d have your feelings sorted out by now. I’m just worried.”

The prick of annoyance returns full force and morphs into something uglier and acrid. It must have shown on his face, because Jinyoung smirks. “Hit the nail on the head, huh?”

“Brat,” Mark seethes, having half a mind to wipe that smirk right off his face. It'd be justified. It’d be so easy. What was his problem, anyway? 

But, Mark is a decade wiser than he was when he had a temper hotter than the sun and an inability to take into account the consequences of his actions. Now, he understands that if he causes a commotion, despite the raw anger, bitterness, and self-pity churning inside of him all in one disgusting mixture, Jackson’s big day will be ruined. And Mark knows how much Jackson wanted this day to be perfect. So he restrains himself from landing a hit onto Jinyoung’s face like he so desperately wants to at the moment, and instead grabs firmly onto the lapel of the younger’s coat. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mark releases him.

Jinyoung barely looks ruffled, fixing his clothes and looking pretentious as ever. “It’s a shame how you’re so caught up in something pointless you become blind to the things that matter,” he comments, “It’ll do you good to open your eyes, hyung.” 

The way Jinyoung says it—like he’s truly sorry for him, like he’s some kind of saint and Mark is the condemned—irritates Mark to no end. He wants to ask Jinyoung what the hell he means. What matters, then? What happens the moment he opens his eyes? Is his whole damn life going to change? Jinyoung makes it sound so frustratingly simple but it’s _not._

Before Mark can respond, likely with something along the lines of “shut up before I make you,” he’s being spun around and being pulled into a bone-crushing hug. He recognizes who it is even before shrill, high-pitched laughter rings in his ear. Jackson is thanking him wholeheartedly for coming, expression brighter than it’s ever been in a while. Immediately, the irritation fades from his features and Mark is overcome with genuine fondness. He returns the embrace, arms wrapping around his best friend’s larger form and itching to never let go.

“I’m glad you could make it, Markiepooh,” Jackson exclaims, nearly swinging him around at this point. _Stop,_ Mark thinks, not because Jackson is physically hurting him, but his heart is squeezing inside his chest and his brain is short-circuiting. Of course, Jackson doesn’t know the definition of subtlety, so Mark can only manage a breathy chuckle before burying his face into his shoulder.

“Are you crying? Aw, don’t cry.”

 _Shit._ Mark quickly rubs away the stray tears, not caring if the harsh friction stings his skin. He offers Jackson a watery smile and tells him, “I’m just happy for you.”

When Jackson finally lets go, Jinyoung is nowhere to be found.

  
  
  


Mark does encounter Jinyoung again later that afternoon when he’s on his fourth flute of champagne and a little less than thrilled at the festivities. 

Also, he’s a bit tipsy. Mark has never held his alcohol too well. Despite his efforts to shake off Jinyoung’s malicious yet accurate words, Mark had retained a sour mood throughout the evening, drinking away his sorrows for the past half hour. Or had it been an hour? Two, maybe? 

It didn’t matter. The younger had torn open a wound that never quite healed properly, sending the haphazard stitches Mark had put into place flying—years of effort to suppress his feelings wasted. What more could he do other than drown out all coherent thoughts with alcohol? 

Not like he was the only one with that idea. Several other guests could be found stumbling around corridors or moving drunkenly on the dancefloor at this time as well, so Mark wasn’t exactly out of place. It was easy to just blend in. He tunes out the blaring music, the busy bodies, the chatter, fading them into dull background static with the help of another sip of fizzy champagne. 

Mark leans against the wall, the back of his head smacking lightly against the hard surface. He stares at the ceiling, exhaling deeply through his nose and wondering why the hell he showed up in the first place. He shuts his eyes. God _forbid_ he tell Jackson no for once in his life. He didn’t really know any of the guests there, either—having an extensive friend group that borderlined on excessive was more of Jackson’s thing. Seriously, he doesn’t understand how someone could maintain decent friendships with that many people. He really only knows just Jackson, Amber, and Jinyoung. 

Jinyoung. He was right to be surprised at seeing Mark at an event like this. This wasn’t his crowd.

“Not in the mood to mingle?”

Mark’s eyes snap open, and the sense of peace that had gradually been creeping up on him shatters. Once his vision clears, Mark comes face to face with none other than Park Jinyoung himself. Mark honestly cannot tell if the question is genuine or a subtle jab at his antisocial behavior. Where were the champagne refills when he needed them?

“Speak for yourself,” Mark quips dryly, “Can I help you?”

If Jinyoung notices his coldness, he doesn’t show it or he doesn’t care. His lips are still frozen in a small smile probably meant to express amiableness, but it comes off as derisive to Mark. He would be lying if he said that Jinyoung’s success and satisfaction with life didn’t make him a little bitter at his own circumstances. That is, being 25 years old without a stable relationship for months, working a mundane job, and watching the love of his life marry someone else.

“Dance with me,” Jinyoung says plainly.

Mark hesitates. “I can’t dance.” It’s not a total lie. His vision is beginning to swim and Mark just now realizes he may have gone too hard on the drinks. But it wasn’t like he was expecting to actually _dance_ anytime soon.

Somehow, despite his obvious reluctance, Jinyoung still manages to have him swaying along to the music amongst the swarm of people on the dancefloor, one hand resting on his hip and the other loosely intertwined with Mark’s. It feels ironically intimate with how close they are, chests almost touching and fingertips brushing. Jinyoung’s scent filled his nose, and Mark felt even more intoxicated. 

Inebriated at the level he was, Mark had to depend mostly on Jinyoung for stability as they moved, gripping his shoulder tightly and leaning in so close he could have sworn he felt Jinyoung’s breath fanning against his neck. Jinyoung doesn’t seem to mind their proximity one bit. The lack of disgust Mark feels comes as a surprise, and that was confusing as it was mildly concerning. Instead, he focuses on the feeling of their bodies gliding along the dancefloor, the sound of the muted piano music playing in the background, and the crystal lights blurring together into streaks of white.

And, it’s not as bad as he expected. Jinyoung is good at leading. Mark follows his footwork easily enough, and they fall into rhythm after a few uncoordinated steps. Jinyoung’s hold on him is ever so firm, and at one point, he even manages to twirl Mark around. It’s a bit of fun, he admits, especially after putting on a fake mask the whole morning. 

The mask slips from his face and Mark isn’t worried about Jackson, the bride, or the wedding. He feels good. He feels light, as if the chains dragging him down were broken.

Regardless, Mark does recognize a sense of guilt somewhere in the back of his mind, heavy as lead and cloying as smoke. It swells faintly, bubbling and rancid beneath the surface, reminding him that he should be giving his all to being happy for Jackson. He needs to be there for Jackson as a _friend._ Supporting him with all his effort—that was the point of him showing up in the first place. This is Jackson’s big day, and Mark shouldn’t be off messing around with someone he’s barely interacted with in years. In a way, Mark felt that he was slacking.

Fuck it.

Jinyoung’s scent, Jinyoung’s touch, Jinyoung’s voice. _Jinyoung—_ he’s all Mark can think of at the moment. Mark was a fool to think he could overpower his desires, no matter how misplaced they were.

Maybe that was the reason why he leans in, breath ghosting across Jinyoung’s full lips that were so temptingly _there_ , barely a hair’s breadth away, hand coming to cup his face in something akin to reverence. Jinyoung might have laughed—whether in surprise, nervousness, or amusement—Mark didn’t care and he couldn’t tell. They share eye contact for what feels like an eternity, like he’s known Jinyoung for a lifetime, and something electric and painfully visceral sparks within him then, a sensation simultaneously familiar and uncharted territory. It’s an impatient flame, consuming him, setting every part of him alight. 

Jinyoung gazes back at him with the same hunger in his dark irises. Mark can feel the hand at his hip tighten a minuscule amount, and his face moves in closer so that they practically breathed the same air. 

The music fades, piano keys slowing to a stop right before Mark can close the gap between them. To his confusion and dismay, Jinyoung detaches from him, a smile ghosting upon his lips. Mark misses the close contact immediately, hating the lack of warmth that once surrounded him. “Wha—?” he stutters, feeling close to stumbling without Jinyoung’s support. Before he can get too disappointed, however, Jinyoung grabs hold of his wrist, tugging him along. 

“How about we continue this elsewhere?”

  
  


Mark soon finds out that ‘elsewhere’ consisted of getting yanked into a cramped bathroom stall, but Mark wasn’t in much of a position to complain, seeing as their options were quite limited already. That, and the fact that Jinyoung had him firmly pressed against the stall door. 

Jinyoung kisses him fervently like the world was ending, and for Mark, maybe it was. He returns the kiss with just as much vigor and heat, hands coming to cup the younger’s face while Jinyoung pulled him impossibly closer. Jinyoung licks at the seam of his lips, requesting entrance. He tastes of alcohol, too, and something indistinctly sweet like vanilla. Another thing Mark learned, as he accepted Jinyoung’s tongue into his mouth, was that Jinyoung is an exemplary kisser. 

It’s getting hot, both figuratively and literally. The only thing Mark can think of is _more,_ though more of what, he isn’t completely sure. He’s not even sure about how the situation escalated to this in the first place. In the end, Mark decides to go for what feels right and promptly shoves his hand down Jinyoung’s trousers. Jinyoung lets out a rough gasp against his mouth, eyes blinking open and peering at Mark curiously through thick lashes. He looks a bit dazed and out of breath, face lightly flushed, but Mark knows he doesn’t look much better off himself. 

Jinyoung, he soon discovers, is already half hard inside his boxers, much to his relief. He takes his time stroking the outline of Jinyoung’s cock, feeling arousal, anticipation, and a bit of apprehension curl in his gut. Jinyoung was not small, and Mark hadn’t done this in a good while. Mark’s train of thought crashes when Jinyoung leans into his touch, his hand coaxing Mark to continue his ministrations. So he does, slipping under the waistband of Jinyoung’s boxers and palming the head of his erection, the glide made easy by the amount of precome. He strokes it to full hardness, drinking the pleased groan that slips past Jinyoung’s lips. 

Through the slight haze clouding his mind, Mark notices that they’re too overdressed for the occasion. He breaks away from Jinyoung to peel off his suit jacket. Before he can do much of anything else, Jinyoung flips his body around so that his forearms rested against the door and his back faced him. Not a second later, Jinyoung is back on him, leaving searing trails of open-mouthed kisses along his neck. Mark exhales sharply when Jinyoung drags their hips together, practically grinding.

“How do you want to do this?” The younger asks, breath fanning against his ear. Mark shudders as Jinyoung’s hands travel south, groping his inner thigh and nearing dangerously close to his clothed dick where he needs it most. Mark knows what they both want. Mark knows what he needs. He feels the metaphorical dam break and suddenly he doesn’t care anymore, only wanting more of Jinyoung and less of everything else.

“Fuck me,” Mark growls, “until I can’t remember the reason why I came to this damned wedding in the first place.”

Jinyoung is all too eager to indulge in him.

With some tricky maneuvering and a few tugs at stubborn pieces of clothing, Jinyoung has Mark’s belt undone and pants shoved down to his knees. To his surprise, Jinyoung slips his belt out of the loops completely, using it to start binding his wrists together before the older can fully register his intentions. Mark, when it does click in his mind, finds that he’s strangely fine with it, though he is a tad surprised the younger was into this sort of thing. And judging by how efficiently and skillfully he works, Mark can tell he has prior experience. The quiet ones really were the freakiest.

“Hope you don’t mind,” Jinyoung smiles a bit too innocently.

Mark shakes his head. It’s something he’s thought about but rarely ever put into action. A single, distant memory forms in the very back of his mind, a blurry recollection of bodies pressed together and the feel of silk against skin, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. 

He briefly thinks maybe they should have talked more in detail about it beforehand, laid down some rules or guidelines or _anything_. But no, he definitely doesn’t mind, not really. Not when he’s so turned on that the leather chafing the sensitive skin of his wrists sends small sparks of pleasure up his spine, a promise of what was to come. The sensation grounds him in a way, yet it also adds fuel to the flames consuming him with abandon. Mark wants Jinyoung to ruin him. 

Mark tells him so, getting breathless laughter in reply. “You really are something else.”

In retrospect, Mark should not have jumped at the feeling of slick fingers brushing against his inner thigh, because this is not his first time bottoming and nowhere near the first time he’s fucked. God, no. And did Jinyoung really keep lube on him for situations like these? If Mark was in his right mind, he would have called him tasteless, but he was nonetheless relieved that he wasn’t going to take it dry. Still, Mark can’t help the slight pang of nervousness settling in his gut like lead. He swallows, throat dry and anticipating Jinyoung’s next action, the barest touch against his skin making him tense. His pride wouldn’t allow him to communicate his discomfort verbally.

Jinyoung already knows somehow, like he always does. “I’ll go slow,” he says, fingers trailing lower. They wrap around Mark’s aching length, prompting a sharp gasp from the older as a wave of pleasure crashes over him. Jinyoung strokes him fairly slowly at first, rolling his palm over the head, gradually building up a faster pace and whispering soft praises into his ear. It shouldn’t have turned on Mark so much, but it did. He shudders at the touch, breath leaving him in quiet, desperate whines. It really had been too long.

Suddenly, Jinyoung’s hand releases him. Over the sound of his own labored panting, Mark catches the noise of a zipper being pulled down. It’s deafening in the small space that enclosed them. He can feel himself tense up again unconsciously, body going rigid with unease. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” Jinyoung whispers as his fingers return, this time further back. 

Mark can’t contain the whimper that escapes his lips as Jinyoung’s slicked finger presses right up against his entrance, pushing in ever so slightly. It breaches the tight ring of muscle, the digit sliding in with little to no resistance and adding a stretch that was neither pleasant nor excruciating. It was very tolerable. Jinyoung’s movements are unhurried and deliberate, easing him open and feeling around his sensitive walls. 

When Jinyoung adds another finger into him, the pressure increases significantly enough for Mark to exhale shakily. “How does it feel?” Jinyoung questions, kissing the nape of his neck. Mark doesn’t respond immediately, his mind still reeling from the stimuli. It doesn’t quite hurt, per se, just incredibly foreign and uncomfortable. “Fine,” Mark settles on, and that’s enough for the younger. Mark does try his best to relax, knowing it will make things easier. Jinyoung starts scissoring him in earnest soon enough, fingers dragging against his insides and searching for his prostate. A third digit is inserted into him, and at that point, Mark is pushing his hips back every so often to meet Jinyoung’s fingers. Jinyoung brushes the bundle of nerves at just the right angle then, ripping another pleasured gasp out of him. Coupled with the hand lazily pumping his cock that was now freely leaking precome, Mark feels his limit approaching faster than he would have liked.

Luckily, Jinyoung retracts his fingers after a few seconds, leaving Mark to clench around nothing. “Hurry,” Mark orders, though it comes out as more of a plea than a command. Even he can tell how fucked out he sounds already. Mark can’t begin to imagine how he must look—his cheeks were probably flushed heavily based on how warm his face felt, and his eyes might have appeared glassy. Mark had always teared up easily. 

Jinyoung doesn’t bother making him wait long, swiftly rolling on a condom he produced from God knows where. When Mark feels something a lot larger than fingers pressing against his stretched hole, he wills himself to stay relaxed to the best of his ability. Jinyoung’s cock enters him slowly enough, but Mark couldn’t ignore how utterly big he was, and the fact that he hadn’t been exactly sexually active the past few months. Well, apart from some one night stands once in a while, and even then, he was always the one on top. 

In short, nothing could fully prepare Mark for something so large entering him, so of course it burned like hell. “Hurts,” Mark whimpers, teeth clamping down on his bottom lip, “It hurts.” It felt like he was being stretched beyond his limit, on the verge of breaking as Jinyoung bottomed out completely.

“I can stop,” Jinyoung tells him, but his strained voice says otherwise. Mark knows for a fact that he doesn’t really want to stop. Jinyoung is gripping his waist so tightly that Mark is sure they’ll leave bruises, and he can almost feel the immense effort Jinyoung is putting in to restrain himself from moving. Besides, Mark doesn’t want to stop, either. He wants Jinyoung, he wants this. “Just give me a minute,” Mark whispers, taking a deep breath of air and bracing himself on the door. 

So Jinyoung does, hand coming to guide Mark’s face towards him and connecting their lips. The kiss is gentle but nothing short of passionate as they explore each other’s mouths, and maybe a little desperate on Mark’s part. Jinyoung’s other hand drifts down to his erection again, stroking it back to full hardness after it faltered somewhat from earlier. Mark shifts his hips to test the waters after a while. He still feels impossibly full and no doubt intimidated, but the burn has faded a great deal into something more manageable. Something he can handle. Something he’s familiar with. 

Ah.

_He made you feel like this, too._

“You can move, but don’t hurt me,” Mark tries. 

He doesn’t know why he says it like that, why it _comes out_ like that all of a sudden. Jinyoung hasn’t hurt him intentionally at all since meeting him, and he showed no interest in doing so now. Mark worries that he might have ruined the mood, and Jinyoung pauses for a moment, but he doesn’t seem to let it bother him enough to cease what they’re doing. The younger begins to properly move then, pulling out and shoving back into his body at a moderate pace, the initial burn ebbing away and melting into an addictive friction. Mark moans sharply as his prostate is nailed, head falling onto his forearms as his body rocks forward with each thrust.

Why is he worried about hurting? What kind of hurt is he talking about? 

Jinyoung’s breathing is uneven beside his ear, voice sounding rough and wrecked. “You’re so tight, hyung, so good for me,” Jinyoung sighs. Mark clenches around him instinctively, mouth falling open in a silent moan at the praise, tears trailing down the side of his face. Liquid pleasure ripples throughout him in time with Jinyoung’s thrusts that were now losing rhythm slowly but surely as they drew nearer to climax. Mark’s erection stood proudly between his legs, flushed red and dripping, aching for some form of relief. He wants to touch himself desperately. He would have done so if not for the belt that secured his wrists together. 

At the same time, there’s a special pleasure in giving up control. Mark focuses on the illusion of utter helplessness the restraints readily provide him, locking onto the feeling of being at another person’s complete mercy. At _Jinyoung’s_ mercy. It’s never failed to not excite him, to not stir up the sick enjoyment he rarely ever allowed to run rampant, and Mark had forgotten how much he liked it. The only other time he’d indulged in this type of activity was with Jackson.

A memory resurfaces from the depths of his foggy mind. Heated glances, unadulterated sexual tension. Coy smiles shared in the darkness. Heady cologne and a silk tie. Jackson called him a good boy then, too, as he undressed him and pinned his wrists above his head. 

Jinyoung slams into him at the perfect angle then, forcefully bringing Mark back to the present. Pleasure blooms in his gut like a thousand fires, spreading from his lower abdomen to the rest of his body, his system flooded with so much exhilaration and endorphins he felt like he would combust. There’s too much of everything at once, and Mark swears he won’t be able to last another second. Tears stream freely down the side of his face at this point. He’s at his limit.

“Fuck--Jinyoung, I’m c-close,” Mark bites out, feeling heat pool in his gut.

He comes with a choked sob, body convulsing in Jinyoung’s grasp as he reaches his climax. Sparks of immense pleasure wash over him in waves and electricity rushes through his shuddering body as Mark is overcome with a multitude of sensations unleashing themselves onto him at the same time. He feels them all--the underlying guilt, the melancholy, the satisfaction, the mind-numbing euphoria. It makes his knees go weak and he would have collapsed if not for Jinyoung holding him in place.

The younger’s movements and breathing have become exceptionally harsher, uncoordinated. Mark can tell he’s nearing his breaking point as well, pace faltering from the precise and controlled thrusts at the start. Of course, the overstimulation hits Mark like a truck after the few seconds he was given to gather his bearings, and of course it makes him whine and twitch in discomfort. Beyond that, however, it was quite a sight to see Jinyoung fall apart. While Jinyoung appeared put together and rather aloof, that wasn’t who he was now. 

Right now, he’s crumbling to pieces before Mark, muttering profanities mixed with Mark’s name under his breath. Mark yelps weakly when Jinyoung bites down on the spot where his neck meets his shoulder, teeth digging so violently into his flesh he thinks it might have drawn blood. A sudden warmth bursts inside him as Jinyoung climaxes with Mark’s name upon his lips, jerkily thrusting into his body a couple more times before finally going lax.

They stand there for a moment, both panting in unison and coming down from their highs. Jinyoung moves first, pulling out and proceeding to clean them both up. Jinyoung unties the belt around Mark’s wrists. They redress. They don’t speak, either, but the hostile atmosphere between them has long disappeared and was replaced by mutual understanding. It’s a good enough resolution to Mark, and he doesn’t want to shatter whatever tentative thing they have now by potentially saying something wrong. So he says nothing. 

Just as he’s finished redressing and ready to step out, Jinyoung surprises him by pulling him into a soft kiss. His hand comes up to cup Mark’s face, and it’s too tender and sincere for the occasion, too sweet and too much left unsaid. They kiss slowly, tongues moving languidly against one another, savoring the moment like it’s the last time. 

Isn’t it? Wasn’t this going to be the end? Mark wonders why the thought makes him immediately miserable, comparable to a hole forming in his chest. He couldn’t explain it fully, his emotions the whole day were chaotic enough, but he was aching on the inside for something-- _someone_ permanent. He’d been hurt so many times by life, his friends, his love, but he dared to say that what he felt with Jinyoung was just more than body heat and violent lust. The way Jinyoung touched and handled him and didn’t throw him away afterwards gave Mark a tiny spark of hope.

They part, and it was just the two of them, locking eyes in a cramped bathroom stall at some unimportant wedding, hearts beating in the same rhythm and bodies still touching long after the heat of carnal desire faded. Mark realizes he doesn’t want it to end here. He doesn’t want to walk out and have to see Jackson in the arms of another woman. He doesn’t want to go home later that night and realize that he’s alone. He doesn’t want to spend every waking moment regretting, constantly regretting.

As usual, Jinyoung knows. 

“Mark hyung, can I have your number?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments, questions, and kudos are appreciated
> 
> Find me here: [[twitter]](https://twitter.com/SungieSalad)


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